no quitters
by HifaLootin
Summary: Chase's tendency to idolize authority figures leads him to an unpleasant encounter with a college professor. Slash. Dubious consent.


_a/n: A fic I wrote for Bone's birthday a bit ago. She asked for "Chase's first time with a guy," and I gave her this. Warning for __**dub-con**__ and general meanness._

- - -

**no quitters.**

It was BIO 200, an undergraduate class, a stepping stone for the premed major that Robert Chase had resigned himself to after leaving the seminary. It was Dr. Briggs, a visiting professor who smoked cigarettes on the steps outside his classroom, never wore ties, and called all of his students—even the girls—by their last names.

Naturally, Robert took a liking to him, but it had nothing to do with Briggs being especially kind or good humored. Rather, he liked how mean Briggs was to the know-it-alls, ignoring their raised hands, moving them to the back of the class and demanding the few slackers sit front and center. He barked at wrong answers, laughed at correct ones, and had a way of standing with his hands in his pockets—legs slightly apart—that invoked a bored action hero, waiting for some sort of challenge.

Briggs wasn't especially tall, but his presence was looming. He knew how to get respect, "didn't stand for anyone's shit," and _that_ was something worthy of admiration. Briggs was a doctor, Robert thought, completely unlike his own father who had made the vocation seem so initially…dull. Unappealing.

Brigg's comments on class quizzes or reports were always short —_good, ok, no—_so Robert was surprised (but only a little nervous) to find _See me after class_ scrawled on the front of his lab report.

"Would you be interested in working for me, as a research assistant?" Briggs asked as Robert watched him light a cigarette, right there behind his desk. "You certainly have a knack for laboratory work."

Robert would have walked through fire for that opportunity.

"Yes, yes, I'd love to." So happy, almost relieved, that Dr. Briggs had noticed him and singled him out—that Briggs had found his enthusiasm inspiring, not annoying or fabricated.

He'd seen Briggs lose it once, at a TA who had unknowingly disposed of his planned presentation, but silently agreed with the professor that she _should_ have been more careful. Proving his worth to Briggs would be easy if he was careful, and he certainly knew his way around the lab. He wouldn't hesitate to put in the extra time, to stick it out if it meant earning Briggs's appreciation—and maybe a recommendation letter later down the line.

What he may have not considered was that Dr. Briggs's meanness could turn on him.

- - -

Conversations were usually amiable when they were both in the lab together, often late into the evening, but once when the dining halls were closing and Robert was waiting on one last PCR gel, Briggs insisted they get a bite to eat at a café up the street.

"Come on, get your coat," he said brusquely. "You need to eat something after all; you're too damn skinny."

Robert pulled his down jacket off the coat rack and followed his professor out the door like a puppy. "I don't have my wallet," he said.

"Don't worry about it." Already, Briggs was lighting a cigarette.

"I can pay you back tomorrow."

"I said don't worry about it, Chase."

- - -

The café was busy but quiet, mostly host to studying college students. Briggs ordered soup and a sandwich so Chase followed suite, without even glancing at the menu.

"I can pay you back," he said again, after the waitress left.

Briggs's eyes crinkled beneath his thin framed glasses. He had a broad, young face and Chase could never really be sure how old he actually was. "I know you can," he said. "I'm sure your father makes sure you're well taken care of."

Chase was caught off guard; they had never mentioned his father before.

"I don't want to ride through life on my father's name," he said quickly.

Briggs smiled his mean little smile. "Well then. You could always get by on your face."

Chase broke eye contact and glanced at his reflection in the nearest window. How he must have looked: ridiculously young, blond, eyelashed…he'd been teased rather flippantly when he was a kid by friends of his mother, but he'd imagined that _Oh, Anne, are you _sure_ he's a boy?_ was well behind him by now.

He wasn't used to thinking about it. And he wasn't about to consider the implications of what his professor could have meant.

"You're blushing," Briggs pointed out.

Chase made a face, like that would obscure whatever Briggs was trying to see in him.

- - -

Perhaps it was there from the beginning and he was just (as Briggs would later say) too dumb to see it. Maybe he'd spent too long in the seminary and they'd twisted his perspective on dating, on sex, making him functionally incompetent in the outside world. And that's why he didn't see it coming?

But everything seemed so initially _normal_. He'd sit in the lab, mounting spider embryos on glass slides and Briggs would be in and out, silently nodding his approval or voicing it with a "Hmm" sound.

That approval was worth far less than Chase pretending it was, but in his life, this seemed the closest that he'd ever came to impressing _anyone_.

So when Briggs wandered into the lab Thursday night, reeking vaguely of marijuana (in addition to the usual tobacco) and pulled up a chair behind Robert's station, maybe a little too close, he said nothing. Briggs did the talking.

"Hey, Chase, you ever been with a guy?"

Chase barely managed to keep his jaw off the floor. "Um, excuse me?"

"Have You Ever Been With A Guy?" Briggs repeated, each drawn-out syllable singing _idiot._ To his own horror, Robert dissolved into nervous laughter.

"Oh, no, I'm…I mean, I'm not…"

"_Right." _ He hadn't even finished his sentence and Briggs was already unconvinced. "Do you like me, Chase?"

"Dr. Briggs—" It came out as a squeak, to Chase's chagrin.

"Don't look at me like an idiot. It's unattractive. Oh, what?"—the last part was practically spat—"Why did you think I hired you for this?"

Robert willed his throat to feel less tight, less dry. "Why did you hire me?"

"Chase, you do well in my class, but you're not a top student."

"But you said…"

"You're not _that_ stupid. Come on. You didn't see it coming? Don't you realize when you're being a fucking tease?"

Chase was fairly sure he had already felt his heart slip down somewhere in his stomach, and the knot in his throat wasn't getting any smaller any time soon. _He's high_, he thought rationally, _If I walk out now, he probably won't mention it again._

Briggs's face softened, ever so slightly, as though he'd picked up on Chase's intention to flee. "Look, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. Don't take it the wrong way."

Then, of course, _of course: _"Come here."

In retrospect, Chase would wonder why he listened, but even if Briggs was _trying_ to show some sort of kinder side, his eyes still had that hard glint that had somehow drawn Chase in. And was a part of him that was still eager to please.

So he let Briggs brush a thumb across his lips, let Briggs grab a handful of his hair, push him down to his knees on the lab's cold concrete floor.

Chase started to say, "I haven't…" but it should have been obvious from, if not their conversation, at least his apprehension and awkward unfamiliarity with the situation, position.

Briggs started to unbuckle his belt, smiling—maybe at Chase's discomfort or maybe simply at the notion that he was about to get his dick sucked by some pretty blond college kid who clearly worshipped the ground he walked on.

He didn't sound especially mean saying, "Here, let me show you"—but he said it as if this were some _life skill_ he was teaching, some trick of the trade that would help Chase later down the line, a favor granted from some selfless kindness. Maybe that was the worst part; maybe the worst part was that Chase could only believe him.

Chase felt Briggs tug at his hair as he opened his mouth and experimentally and slid his tongue under the waiting erection. It was strange, almost surreal to find his lips wrapped around another man's dick, to have gone from _making slides_ to _cocksucking_ and realize _no, the world is not ending,_ like this was just another thing Briggs muttered something, told him to breathe (what kind of advice is that?), and then he was thrusting—slowly and shallowly at first—into Chase's mouth as he held his head immobile.

"Oh yeah…" Briggs's whole body seemed to sag, and he pulled back to slam deeper in Chase's mouth. A few more of those and Chase's knees were getting sore from being pressed into the concrete, his jaw was beginning to ache.

Each time Briggs thrust into his mouth, Chase found himself gagging just a little, rudely introduced to the reflex in the back of his throat which he had never given much thought before this moment. Soon, his eyes had began to water so badly that tears were slipping down his cheeks, and if Briggs did notice, this only spurred him on. Chase sucked hard at the dick in his mouth, bobbing his head with a frenzied energy as he sensed Briggs was getting close, desperatey trying to remember what he would want in Briggs's position but coming up with nothing.

By the time Briggs shuddered and came, Chase wanted to cry with relief, completely unfazed by the way Briggs held his head in place, forcing him to swallow. He wouldn't have considered otherwise; Brigg's release was bitter and clung to his throat, but—if nothing else—it had been hard earned and it felt foolish to spit it back.

Briggs's hand, damp from Chase's own sweat, patted his head half heartedly.

"Okay," he breathed. His hand dropped to squeeze Chase's shoulder. "Good boy."

Chase would later try to convince himself that the remark had been something other than sardonic, or that maybe he'd misheard completely, but denial can only get you so far.

Briggs buttoned his trousers one-handed as the other fished for his cigarettes. He pulled out the crushed pack and for the first time, held it out to Chase, who had collapsed onto the floor and stayed there. "You want one?"

Chase shook his head. His lips felt too numb to say anything back.

- - -

His roommate was asleep by the time he got back to his dorm room, so he climbed into bed fully clothed and groped for a blanket in the dark. His lips felt dry and chapped, a little tender to the touch. He toyed with the idea of quitting the job and telling Briggs to go fuck himself, and although the fantasy brought him a small thrill, part of him was aching to go back; let Briggs slap him around, let Briggs know he was worth _something_. Chase rubbed his jaw and curled up against his pillow. He wasn't completely unhappy: he liked that Briggs might need him, but mostly he _needed_ Briggs to like him

And despite what his own track record might look like, despite what his father might say, he had never really been a quitter.

_a/n: Reading this fic still makes me wince. Please tell me about your own facial expressions upon reading this in a review—t'would be much appreciated :D  
_


End file.
